


His Name

by theworldunseen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen
Summary: A look at Brienne's thoughts about a certain blonde knight through season seven.EDIT: Chapter 2 is Jaime's thoughts during the same time.





	1. Chapter 1

In the morning when she wakes, his is the first name on her lips. Jaime. When she stretches in her bed she almost expects him to be there. But of course he’s not.

Then she goes about her day. She laces up her tunic, dons her sword. She downs her breakfast – the food in the north is never seasoned enough. She checks on Lady Sansa. She glowers at Littlefinger. She trains Podrick, her loyal squire who never gets any better or any worse. She spars with Arya, not always sure who is learning from who. Arya has speed and stealth. She has strength. It’s a worthy match. It makes her proud to know this girl – this woman – doesn’t need protecting.

When Pod tells her Lady Catelyn would be proud, she thinks of him. Catelyn would not have liked that. When she sharpens Oathkeeper she thinks of him. When it’s cold she wonders if he’s warm, wherever he is, somewhere south, surely. When they talk of battles and alliances she thinks of the last time she saw him, at Riverrun. When she sees a blonde person – not many in the North – she thinks of him. Even when she sees a blonde dog, she almost smiles.When she feels herself getting too serious, when they talk of Targaryens, when she pushes her hair out of her eye: always thinking of him.

She hates it. She pushes him to the back of her mind, all day, every day. She finds more and more tasks to occupy her hands. There’s always work to be done and she does it, never complaining, never stopping. If her father could see her now. If Jaime could see her now – no, not him. Never him. He picked his side and she picked hers. Now they had to live with it.

Whenever a raven comes she feels it in her chest, the hope that it could be for her, from him. It never is. She is ashamed of the hope in her chest. Again and again she pushes him from her mind. If she could excise every memory of him she would. (Wouldn’t she?)

But at night, after the longest, coldest, most tiring days, she doesn’t bother to stop it. She can’t. She imagines him there with her, laughing at her. “Lady Brienne,” he’d say. “How did a southern lady end up in this cold, cold place?” And she would shake her head. “What would your septa say?” he would jest, elbowing her ribs. Her skin almost burns in the spot. “Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?”

No one. Just Brienne.

This is how she falls asleep. And in the morning when she wakes his is the first name on her lips.

\----

Finally, it changes. Sansa orders her to King’s Landing. And her mind is full of reasons why she shouldn’t go – Littlefinger is plotting, Sansa needs protection – but when Sansa won’t hear it, she’s almost grateful. Her heart is in King’s Landing, even if she wishes with every fiber of her being that it wasn’t.

As she makes her way south – with Pod, as always – she can feel the ways she’s changed. As the weather warms she wipes the sweat off her brow with derision. It’s too hot, even though it’s colder than she remembers. Winter _is_ coming, she thinks.

When they finally arrive in King’s Landing she wants to ask everyone where he is. But she’s not here for him and she’s not here for herself. She pushes him out of her mind again and again, though every little thing reminds her of him.

Hours later they wait in the Dragonpit. It’s empty and cold and she has so many bad feelings about this, but no one asks her.

She sees his sister first. The queen. “Her hair looks horrible,” she thinks and almost laughs. She’s never had such a thought. A girlish thought. But it does. Cersei is still terrifyingly cold, however.

Then she sees him. His armor is regal, but he looks tired. She must too. “Look at me, look at me, look at me,” she chants in her head, embarrassing herself. And then he does.

It all comes back. Every moment, every glance, every jibe, and every thought she tries so hard to keep from thinking all day long. “That’s not why you’re here,” she tells herself. “You’re here for Sansa.” But she’s only here for Sansa because he sent her to find Sansa, and she only succeeded because she has the sword he gave her.

He looks away first. There’s work to be done. There’s a wight in a box. There’s an army of the undead on its way to kill them all. She hates this, every moment of this. Cersei looks at her, she looks at him, and he looks back and forth between the two. Like children.

But then they get to business. She pushes him to the back of her mind. She represents Sansa’s interests.

She pays attention. Unlike the sister queen, she keeps her cool when the wight comes out. It terrifies her, but she’s stoic. This is what she does. She finds out how to kill it because that’s what matters. Oathkeeper can kill it. She can kill it.

For a moment it seems like everything will work out. Or work out as much as it can. Everyone will go north and fight and they’ll stop the frozen dead and then everything can go to hell in a different way. But at least there’s a chance.

Until there isn’t. Jon Snow, that idiot, ruins it. There’s a time for loyalty, but when an army of the undead is coming down to kill us all…

And then the Lannisters are leaving. That’s it. It’s over. It can’t end like this.

Before she knows what she’s doing she runs off the platform – “Ser Jaime.” When he blows her off she grabs his shoulder. Later she’ll realize how strange it is she touched him. “Fuck loyalty,” she yells at him and his lion armor. He’s so rude. She expected nothing less. She tells him to talk to the queen anyway.

“And tell her what?” he says, meanly. Cersei looks at both of them and she doesn’t even care. She had to try. And she did. But trying isn’t doing.

\----

Later they come back – the three Lannisters, united together again. The queen’s children could have been like this, once. Now they never will be.

Whatever or whoever did it, it worked. The Lannister army will join the fight in the North. They’re leaving Kings Landing. Maybe she’ll see Jaime on the same side of a battlefield next time. One last time.

They board a boat and they go. She doesn’t think of him anymore. He’s where he belongs and she’s where she belongs and there are bigger problems than her broken, crumbling, still-beating heart. She has to protect Sansa, she has to figure out what she makes of this dragon queen, she has to figure out how to keep Poddrick from dying at the hands of the undead. This is what matters now.

Then, when they’re almost to the North, a raven comes. Two letters. One for the dragon queen, about how Cersei was lying, how the Lannister army isn’t coming. But she doesn’t know that yet, because the second letter is for her.

_My dearest Brienne. I’m coming._

It's okay he doesn't sign his name, because it's always the first on her lips.


	2. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's perspective on season 7. I had no intention of writing this but your kind comments put it in my head.

He never thinks of her. That’s how he survives. His whole life is compartmentalized, sorted away. He focuses on today and tomorrow and maybe, if he’s up to the challenge, next week. And that’s the only way he gets by.

He does not think of his son, a demon child and then a demon man, dying in his mother’s arms. He does not think of his daughter, one of the only good things he’s ever made, dying in his, paying for crimes that were not her own. He does not think of his youngest, who chose death over life. He does not think of the role his sister played in all three of their demises, because if he did he might have to make different choices. 

And he does not think of her because if he did he would have to make different choices. 

Loyalty. That is his justification, and he thinks she would understand. Maybe. If he is not loyal to his sister now, when she has no one else, what was it even for? Let them first secure the throne and then...something. He doesn’t think about what comes next. It’s the only way he gets by.

But in the middle of the night, in his dreams, the things he does. The life he has. The man he is.

Sometimes his children come to him. Myrcella and Tommen are happier than they ever were in life. Sometimes it’s Tyrion. They share a beer or fight a battle or slay a bear. Sometimes it’s his mother. He wakes feeling love and its absence.

But the most common dreams, the best dreams and the worst dreams, are when she comes to him. He still remembers the first time, years ago, the dream that made him run back to her. Sometimes his dreams are like that. He wakes in a panic, afraid that there’s somewhere he ought to be. But he doesn’t know where that would be.

Sometimes his dreams are terrifying. He’s in a castle or a fortress looking for her, running through hallways and doors that never end. And it’s hot, so hot under his armor. He calls her name but there’s no answer. Just the sound of his boots hitting stone. A door opens behind him and he turns and it’s her and a murderous look in her eyes and she raises her sword and swings it down and he wakes in a cold sweat. Those nights he never falls back asleep.

But sometimes his dreams are beautiful. The plot he can’t remember, but the details stay with him. Sunshine, the ocean, the smell of lemons. A hand in his hand, or on his leg, or in his hair. Happiness. He wakes feeling content for one perfect moment. Then he’s overcome by the worst longing. For the woman he can’t have, for the life he doesn’t deserve. He rolls over, almost expecting to find another body there. Her body. But she’s not there.

Sometimes he dreams of the last time he saw her, at Riverrun. In his dreams they don’t talk of war or Sansa Stark or Tullys and Starks. These dreams are sweet agony. 

He still can’t believe that happened. That she found Sansa Stark, that she came into his tent, that they both got away without dying or trying to kill the other. He never forgets the look on her face as he waved goodbye. He hopes he never sees her again.

That is, when he thinks about her, which he does not. Because he cannot. All the people he can’t think of: his mother, his children, his brother, his Bri—. No.

Instead he has his sister. Or rather, his sister has him. She sends him to trick his brother, to capture Highgarden. So much death amongst so much beauty. This is his life now.

Olenna gives him a gift as he kills her. His brother is innocent. Sansa Stark is innocent. Even before he tells his sister he knows she won’t believe him. What is there to believe anymore? Beliefs are for the young and hopeful. He is old and hopeless. All he has is loyalty to his family, and his family is only this woman now. So if she says it doesn’t matter, it mustn’t matter.

Until he sees the dragon. Until he almost dies trying to kill the dragon queen. Until he sees whole armies burnt alive by a power he can barely comprehend. That’s when everything changes, though he won’t admit it yet.

He sees his brother again.

He goes back to his sister with so much information. His brother is innocent. The dragons will defeat them, if an army of the dead doesn’t first. He can’t do this anymore, he almost says.

But she has a trump card. Strange that she always does. This is their family again. Maybe this time it could all work out.

He knows it can’t, but his whole life is built on pretending. So he pretends one last time.

\--

They parley in the Dragonpit. He has a bad feeling about this, but no one asks so he doesn’t tell. They wait for their enemies to arrive first. Then they make their entrance.

There’s the Stark bastard and the savages and the Hound and — no. How? 

Why should she be here? In King’s Landing again?

She bores her eyes into his and he can’t look away but he has to and he looks at his sister and she looks at him and at her and it feels like a mountain is falling on him.

But his sister snaps them back to business. Where is the dragon queen, she asks. Why is she late. He almost rolls his eyes — they all know how she’s coming. And as if on cue she arrives, riding the black dragon that has figured so prominently in his newest nightmares.

And then the Hound gives him fodder for a new one. His sister jumps. He jumps. That idiot pirate runs away. 

He sees that she is one of the few who isn’t visibly shaken. All he wants is for her to look at him. He hopes she never looks at him again.

Predictably the meeting ends in chaos. His sister is imperious and stubborn and cruel and short-sighted and this is who he has chosen.

But then, there she is, saying his name, grabbing his shoulder. “Talk to the queen,” she says. But what to say to her? They both picked their sides. He should be happy he saw her one last time before he has to face her on a battlefield. She’ll kill him. He knows it.

“Fuck loyalty,” she yells. What? She tells him to stop being loyal? But if he’s not loyal to the Lannisters — to the Lannister...

He’s rude to her but he can’t stop himself. Why does she have to be here, telling him to try to do the thing he can’t do? Why does she believe in him? He hates it. He hates her. He misses her before he even finishes walking away.

Then he’s pacing outside his sister’s chambers. What can he say? Fuck loyalty, he repeats in his head over and over and over. Then he enters.

She doesn’t listen to him, but she listens to their brother. Somehow. He doesn’t even care. Back in the Dragonpit he wants to yell at her, “See? I tried! I did something good!” He wants to say so many other things to her, but he doesn’t think of those. That’s how he gets by.

He almost feels giddy as he meets his sister in the map room. He’ll be part of something outside himself. He will lead the Lannister armies north and if a wight kills him at least he’ll know he died for something other than a symbol of a lion that means nothing to no one. He’s never even seen a real lion.

He’s surprised when she tells him she lied. And he’s surprised that he’s surprised. Doesn’t he know her by now? Shouldn’t he have expected this?

He wants to hit her. He wants to forget her. He wants to shake her until she changes her mind.

But he’s done wanting impossible things. 

Everyone he’s ever loved is dead, but one. Everyone who’s ever loved him is dead, but maybe one. 

He can no longer keep the past behind him, because the past came and found him. And it’s dragging him from his hiding place. It’s been time to choose for a long time now, but being scared out of his mind is what makes him finally find the courage to go.

He takes off his armor. Let the lions on his shoulders rot. 

He finds a raven. Writes two letters and sends them North. He hopes she will accept him when he comes. If not…

He leaves Kings Landing as the first snows fall. The Starks’ words truer than the Lannisters’, in the end. As he makes his way North, freezing, he finally thinks about all the things he should have been thinking of this whole time. More than once he cries. It’s good to know he can still cry. When he’s feeling less sorry for himself, he lets himself think of her. Sometimes he almost smiles.

Finally, Winterfell. They let him through the gates, a good sign. He sees her right away. Sparring with that useless squire in the courtyard. “You’re not going to kill any wights like that,” she instructs. He smiles, dismounts, and cautiously approaches. 

“Lady Brienne,” he says. If she hears him, she doesn’t show it. She continues to parry and strike and dodge. 

“Brienne,” he says, softer. She knocks Podrick’s sword from his hands. She turns to him. She smiles.

It is enough.


End file.
